


Inferno

by CallMeDelphine



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, There is closure, can be read as either platonic or romantic, sort of happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeDelphine/pseuds/CallMeDelphine
Summary: A dimension in which Morty doesn't escape Mr. Jellybean in time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I don't write that much fanfic so please be kind lol. 
> 
> I chose this scene because it was just really jarring to watch this episode, and because I wanted to explore their feelings more.
> 
> Tw for rape.

Morty was no stranger to trauma. He was young, but having Rick for a grandfather meant he had to grow up fast. He saw and did a lot of fucked up things that he wished he hadn’t, but all of that paled in comparison to lying on the floor of a reeking tavern bathroom, feeling Mr. Jellybean’s weight on his back.

“No, don’t! Please! Just let me go!” Morty begged. He was on his knees with his head over the toilet, thrashing desperately against the iron grip holding him. Mr. Jellybean leaned over Morty and bit his neck hard, drawing blood.

“You’re such a pretty little thing,” he grunted into Morty’s ear. He reeked of decay and rotting fruit, and bile rose in the back of Morty’s throat.

“Get off me! Rick! HEL—”

Mr. Jellybean slammed Morty’s head hard against the ceramic rim of the toilet and laughed when the boy slumped to the floor, dazed.

“No, just leave me alone,” Morty slurred, weakly trying to fight the hands that loosened his pants.

“Stop being such a tease, just give in,” Mr. Jellybean spat, all pretenses of benevolence gone. He dragged Morty up until he was positioned over the toilet seat again and bound his arms to the pipes connecting it to the wall.

Morty couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. How had the situation escalated so fast? One moment he had been talking to a seemingly kind stranger. The next, well…

His head swam. He couldn’t focus. He felt something cold on the side of his head and knew he was bleeding.

_Come on, Morty. Think of something!_

The edges of his vision blurred with black and he fought the wave of unconsciousness that threatened to swallow him.

Mr. Jellybean’s hands gripped Morty’s hips and he licked the cut on the side of the boy’s head.

“I can’t wait to see how you feel,” the monster whispered, his breath hot and heavy in Morty’s ear. He wrapped his hand tightly around Morty’s mouth and thrust hard.

Morty screamed, but all that came out was a strangled cry. He screwed his eyes shut and prayed that Rick would burst through the door, gun in hand, and kill the monster hurting him. But of course, no one came. Morty could hear the sounds of laughter and clanging beer glasses on the other side of the door. His hear ached that he could be so close to help yet so far from it.

_Come on, you piece of shit. Do something!_

Morty thrashed harder against Mr. Jellybean, kicking out his legs in an effort to dislodge him. He felt his foot collide with Mr. Jellybean’s groin and the monster finally let go. Morty yanked against the rope binding him to the pipe, hoping that either the knots or the pipe would give way, but neither loosened. Morty cried out in frustration and flipped over onto his back, aiming another kick straight at the creature’s face.

“You little twat!” Mr. Jellybean spluttered, spitting up blood.

“Rick!” Morty screamed. He took another breath to call out again but Mr. Jellybean scrambled to his feet and kicked Morty in the ribs, over and over until even breathing hurt too much. He lay dazed on the floor, couldn’t even summon the energy to fight when he felt Mr. Jellybean crawl on top of him. Morty turned his face away in disgust, trying not to cry because even that hurt.

The monster’s thrusts grew faster and Morty tried to ignore the sharp pain, tried to think of anything else. There was no point in trying to fight anymore; he knew he couldn’t win. Not when every breath seared like a hot poker shoved down his throat. He hung limply from the rope and stared at the bathroom door, his last hope that someone would walk in, see what was happening, and save him.

Morty hated himself in that moment, hated how weak and disgusting he was. Rick was right, he was such a useless, stupid piece of garbage. Anyone with half a brain would have come up with a way to escape. Instead, he let himself be overpowered in a matter of minutes and gave up with barely a fight. Mr. Jellybean didn’t even bother covering his mouth anymore; even _he_ knew Morty had given up.

Morty wanted to keep fighting, he really did, he hated this complacency, but his ribs and his head hurt so much…

_More excuses_ , he thought bitterly.

He tried to block out Mr. Jellybean’s grunts and wondered if Rick had even noticed that he had been gone for a while. Morty doubted it; he had _told_ Rick that he was going to the bathroom but Rick had been so busy drinking and gambling that Morty doubted he’d even heard.

The anger left as quickly as it had come, and Morty let out a sob. He couldn’t put the blame on Rick, not when this mess was his own fault. Who walks into a bathroom on a different planet and starts talking to the first alien he sees? This was Morty’s own fault for being so trusting, so gullible, so _stupid._

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Morty said quietly, his tears spilling silently out of the corner of his eyes and into his hair.

“So—stupid,” the creature agreed, “but—so—good.”

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Mr. Jellybean froze, clapping his hand over Morty’s mouth before the boy could scream.

Morty strained his neck to see if it was Rick who had come in, but he could tell by the shoes that it wasn’t him. Still, every cell of his being ached to scream out _I’m here! Help me!_ but the monster had clamped his mouth shut with bruising force.

Mr. Jellybean pulled back his lips in a smile that was more of a snarl, as if relishing Morty’s hope.

“No one’s coming for you, you sweet little fuck,” he grunted. Morty stared wide-eyed as Mr. Jellybean stopped thrusting and finally let out a long groan. The monster got to his feet and took a deep breath before plastering on that familiar saccharine smile.

“Today was your lucky day kid,” he said, before aiming one last hard kick at Morty’s head.

The world spun dizzyingly as Morty watched Mr. Jellybean unlock the stall and leave. The door creaked shut and Morty was finally alone. Although he was still on his back, the ground swayed dangerously underneath him.

“No, n-no, you have to s-sit up,” Morty said out loud, willing his body not to give up on him now. He forced himself into a sitting position and leaned his head back against the wall. He had to get free, he just had to. If anyone walked in and saw him like this, Morty wasn’t sure he could live that down, on top of everything else.

Morty spotted a piece of the toilet bowl that had chipped away, leaving behind a jagged edge. He ran the rope back and forth over the edge until, finally, the threads gave way. Morty rubbed the chaffed skin on his wrists and shakily reached down to pull his pants up. That small movement was too much; his vision clouded again and Morty had to sit back down.

He pulled up his knees and placed his head on them. The bile stung his throat again and he dragged himself to the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of stomach until he was dry heaving. He knew he must look like a mess—spit and vomit running down his face, blood caked in his hair, unknown bathroom fluids from the floor all over him—but none of that came even close to how degraded, used, and utterly humiliated he felt on the inside.

The throbbing in Morty’s head pulsed painfully with his heartbeat until, finally, he gave in to the unconsciousness.

*

Where was the damn kid? He’d been gone for almost an hour. Who uses the bathroom for that long?

Rick stumbled towards the bathroom, worry nagging at the corner of his mind.  It wasn’t like Morty to just disappear for that long. Rick knew he shouldn’t have been so hard on the kid and his dumb adventure, but even when Morty got mad, he never just _left_ , he always came back.

Rick pushed open the bathroom door and looked around. All of the stall doors were open. He was just about to leave when he heard a quiet whimper, as if someone was in pain.

“Hey Morty, you in here?” Rick called out. He was really worried now. Something didn’t feel right at all. Rick reached for the laser gun in his coat pocket and walked towards the last stall where he thought the sound came from. Rick pushed open the door and saw Morty unconscious on the floor.

“ _Morty?!_ What the—” Rick raced to his side and shook him, trying to wake him up. Morty whimpered again. Rick looked over him quickly, searching for injuries, but Morty was covered in so much blood, grime, and sweat that he didn’t know where it was coming from.

“Fuck! _Fuck!”_

If he hadn’t been so damn absorbed in his gambling, maybe he could have prevented this. Whoever attacked the kid was a sick fuck who was going to pay, he’d make sure of that. Rick grabbed some paper towels and wet them in the sink before kneeling back down next to Morty, wiping the mess off his face. His mind was going a million miles a minute as he worked, trying to figure out who from the tavern could have done this. Rick bent down to look closer at the cuts on Morty’s wrists.

That’s when he noticed that the buttons on Morty’s jeans were undone.

He pushed Morty onto his side and his fears were confirmed when he saw the blood spot on the back of the jeans.

The edges of his vision went red and his brain kicked into overdrive.

Rick shot a portal opening into the wall and picked Morty up. Right now, his priority was getting the kid home.

Whoever had done this was a dead man walking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

Morty slowly came to.

He looked around through half-closed eyes. It took a while to place himself.

Garage door.

Workbench.

 _Home._ He must be back at home.

Morty tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his ribs had him falling back against the bed, gasping for breath.

“Hey Morty, you awake?” he heard someone say. The voice sounded far away and distorted. Who was that? He was so confused…

“W-what—?” Morty started, raising a hand to his head. “What’s—”

“Shh, don’t try to talk. You g-gotta rest, Morty.”

He finally placed the voice. _Rick._

“Rick,” Morty said. “Rick, it hu-it hurts.”

“I know baby, I’m sorry. It won’t hurt for much longer.”

Morty felt something prick his arm and he welcomed the black cloud of nothingness that crept over him.

   


*

   


When he opened his eyes again, Morty felt much better. His head felt clearer and his ribs hurt a little bit less. He squinted at the clock on the workbench.

2:37 A.M.

Rick was knocked out in the chair beside him, head lolled back and mouth wide open. Morty slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed the wall, gasping and waiting for the headrush to pass. His eyes darted back to Rick, making sure he was still asleep. Morty couldn’t bear it if he had to talk to anyone right now.

Shower. He desperately needed a shower. He could feel the blood and grime caked on his body. Memories of the dingy bathroom flickered through his mind and Morty clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from vomiting.

He stumbled upstairs to the bathroom, stopping every few steps because his ribs were still tender. He hoped fervently that his family didn’t wake up—he wasn’t sure how he’d explain himself.

Once in the safety of the bathroom, Morty stripped off his soiled clothes and shoved them into the bottom of the trash. He never wanted to see them again. Avoiding the mirror, he turned on the shower to the hottest setting and waited for the air to be thick with steam before stepping under the flow. The water beat roughly against his bruises and he moaned in pain.

Morty scrubbed himself raw, as if he could wash away everything that had happened. He didn’t care when he ripped off the scabs and the bleeding started anew, didn’t care when his skin turned bright pink from the heat of the water. Morty needed to forget, he needed to get rid of all the evidence.

He slid to the floor and sat under the pounding of the water until it started to run cold.

Carefully he stepped out and wrapped himself in a towel, ignoring the blood that seeped into the white cotton. He sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the floor, unsure of what to do now.

If he went outside, he’d see Rick and he’d be confronted with the reality of what happened.

In here, in the bathroom, he could steal a few more minutes of peace, of no one bothering him about anything.

“Morty, you in here?” Rick called through the door. Morty jumped, his heartrate spiking immediately.

Fuck, there went those few minutes.

“Y-yeah Rick, I was just taking a shower.”

There was no response.

 _He must have gone back to the garage,_ Morty thought hopefully. He really needed to be alone right now. If anyone brought up what had happened, he would start screaming. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, didn’t _want_ to talk about it.

Morty drank some water from the tap and sighed. He couldn’t delay the inevitable.

He unlocked the door and stepped outside, shivering in the cool air.

“Feeling better?”

“F-Fuck!” Morty shouted in alarm. He turned and saw Rick leaning against the wall, apparently waiting for Morty to come out. “What the fuck, Rick! Y-you can’t just s-sneak up on me like that, you k-know, _jeez_.” Morty’s heart pounded in his chest and he tried to ignore his fight-or-flight response screaming at him.

“Shit, sorry Morty,” Rick said, holding his hands up. “I wasn’t trying—I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m n-not scared,” Morty snapped. “I just want to—can I be alone? I just want to go to my room.”

He could tell Rick didn’t want to let him out of his sight, but Morty was feeling more and more suffocated by the minute. He hated that look in Rick’s eyes, the one that made Morty feel like he was made of glass.

He barreled past Rick before he could say anything and locked the door to his room. Morty knew that a locked door wouldn’t stop him, that Rick could just portal into the room if he wanted to, but he hoped Rick would respect his desire for privacy this one time.

He yanked out the first aid kit from his drawer and slapped bandaids on the open cuts. Then he pulled out fresh pants and a shirt and got dressed, sitting gingerly on the bed when he was done. In that moment, surrounded by the dark silence of the room, he wanted nothing more than to melt into it and disappear.

 

*

The next week passed in a nightmare-fueled blur. Morty lost track of the days and didn’t care much to follow them. Most days were spent huddled under the covers of his bed with the curtains drawn. His mother had come by several times, but Morty called out a generic excuse that he just had a cold, and she seemed content with that.

Someone knocked on his door again.

“Really mom, I’m f-fine,” Morty said, irritation starting to creep into his voice. He just wanted to be left alone. Was that really too much to ask?

“It’s me,” Summer called through the door.

Morty’s eyes widened. Fuck. He hadn’t seen her since he’d come back home, figuring she was staying at a friend’s house again. When had she come back?

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Didn’t matter now. She was here and Morty would have to let her in. She wasn’t going to buy his weak excuses like his mother had.

Groaning inwardly, Morty dragged himself out of bed, wincing, and trudged to the door. He unlocked it and Summer came in, squinting in the darkness before locking the door again behind her. Morty was grateful that she didn’t try to turn on the lights.

“Morty, what’s going on? Did Rick do something again?” Summer asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Morty squirmed uneasily under her gaze. Between the two of them, Summer was the cynical one. She could see through any excuse. Morty thought over his words carefully before speaking.

“Everything’s fine, Summer. It’s just, y’know, sometimes the adventures with R-Rick are just—they get kind of intense. You know how-how it is.”

“Have you _told_ him, Morty? You can’t keep killing yourself this way just because Rick needs a personal assistant on his adventures.”

“Yea, h-he knows,” Morty said, shifting his weight to his other leg.

“It’s not fair to you,” Summer said softly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Uhh, l-look Summer, thanks f-for checking in on me, but I’m really tired…” Morty said lamely, desperately trying to get her out before she started looking more carefully at his cuts, at the way he didn’t want to sit down because it still hurt.

Taking the hint, Summer sighed. “Yea okay, I’ll go. Just promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re ready, okay?”

“S-Sure Summer, thanks,” he said, his hands shaking anxiously. Once she left, Morty sagged against the door. The tears came before he could stop them and he pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing he could forget.

 

*

 

It took Rick longer than Morty thought it would to come visit him. When Rick knocked on the door, asking to come in, Morty told him to portal in. He was in no mood to get up and unlock the door.

The familiar green light illuminated the space and Morty shut his eyes against it. When it faded away, he opened them and saw Rick standing in the middle of his room. Before Morty could open his mouth, Rick cut across and sat down on the bed.

“Look M-Morty, it’s been over a week. I’ve tried to give you s-space, I don’t want to push you, but you gotta—I need you to tell me who did this. Let me—let grandpa take care of this.”

Rick looked down at Morty, waiting, concerned. Morty turned to his other side, facing away from Rick.

“R-Rick, can’t you just—can’t you just drop it? There’s n-n-nothing you can do, alright? It happened and now it’s o-over. I just want to forget. _Please._ ”

Morty screwed his eyes shut and waited for Rick to yell at him, call him an idiot, say _anything_. Instead, he felt Rick’s cool hand on top of his head. He relaxed slightly under the touch, thankful when Rick didn’t push it further.

He felt the bed spring up as Rick got to his feet to leave, and his heart wrenched at the sudden loss.

“Wait Rick,” Morty started, turning around to face him. “Can you—could you sleep here tonight? I-I get nightmares…” he trailed off, waiting. Rick’s face was unreadable, but he nodded, to Morty’s relief.

Morty scoot over to make room and turned to face the wall. He felt Rick’s back against his back and sighed in contentment.

The nightmares came, as expected.

Jellybean was on top of him, his heavy weight pressing against Morty’s lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

“No, Jellybe—get off, get—get off me,” he gasped, pushing violently against the body pinning him down.

“Morty, wake up! It’s just a bad dream!”

Morty’s eyes snapped open and the image of King Jellybean holding him down dematerialized to reveal Rick looking down at him worriedly. Morty sat up in the bed and roughly pushed Rick away.

“G-Get away, I’m f- _fine_ ,” he stuttered, nervously wiping at the sweat on his forehead. He wished Rick would stop looking at him that way. It made him feel worse, even dirtier somehow. Why couldn’t Rick just act normally? Surely it should be easy for him. It wasn’t like _he’d_ been the one trapped in that bathroom.

Morty bitterly turned over onto his side, wanting Rick to go away but also wanting him to stay. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel, but when he felt Rick’s arm wrap around his waist, he didn’t push away again. Morty melted into the warmth, allowing himself to feel safe and secure, even if just for a moment.

When morning came and Morty woke up, squinting against the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, Rick was gone.

*

 

Rick sat hunched over in his chair in the garage, scrolling through the coordinate history on his portal gun. Now that he had a name for the piece of shit that had laid hands on his grandson, he could do something about it.  

He punched in the points for the dimension they’d come from and shot a portal into the wall.

 

*

 

Morty wandered through the house for the first time in over a week, craving something without understanding what it was. He opened the refrigerator, stared into it for an eternity, and closed it again, unsatisfied.

His feet carried him to Rick’s room and then to the garage, but both were empty. Morty felt a stab of pain and betrayal at the thought of Rick going on an adventure without him. He knew Rick to be callous and distant, but this seemed especially mean, especially after last night.

How could Morty be so stupid as to think Rick could change? One hug after years of knowing his grandfather didn’t mean shit, and Morty should have expected this. Of course Rick would continue being Rick. He was probably in another dimension fighting aliens for some crystal that would get him high. Morty didn’t want to believe that, but what else should he think?

Morty leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out at the empty house. The table was covered in crumbs from that morning’s breakfast and dishes were piled in the sink.

Itching to do _something,_ Morty grabbed his phone and headphones, turned on his favorite playlist, and started cleaning. Once the table had been wiped clean, he set to work on the dishes, filling the sink with hot water. The sting of the heat felt good on his skin, searing but cleansing.

He hummed to himself while he worked, turning up the music so that he couldn’t hear anything else. Seeing the dishes in his hands but not hearing the clang of ceramic allowed him to disconnect from that moment, to escape and relax into the background. He felt like a passenger in his own body, but this time in a good way.

Someone touched his shoulder and Morty jerked violently, dropping the bowl he’d been holding. It shattered on the floor and sent soapy water flying everywhere.

Morty ripped out his earbuds and turned angrily.

“Jeez, Rick! Y-you couldn’t give me a—a heads up or something first?”

“Sorry, I called out but you didn’t hear me.”

Morty shoved his hands back into the water so that Rick wouldn’t see how they clenched in agitation. His heart pounded in his ears and he felt sick.

Something sharp stuck his palm and a pain exploded up his arm. Morty pulled his hand out of the water and saw blood dripping out of a small cut—he must have accidentally grabbed a knife.

“Ouch! Oh-oh jeez,” Morty said, frazzled. Rick made him nervous. Why couldn’t he go away? Why was he still standing there? What did he want? Fuck, now everything was going wrong.

“G-give me your hand, let me see,” Rick said, taking a step forward.

“N- _no_ , Rick! Just leave me alone. W-what do you want? Coming back from an adventure and wanted to r-rub it in?”

Morty got a good look at Rick for the first time since he’d entered the room. Rick was a mess, covered from head to toe in a sticky purple liquid that Morty did not want to know about.

“I came to get these,” Rick said, picking up a roll of paper towels sitting on the counter. He started to leave but hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else. Morty watched the conflict rage on Rick’s face, but all he said was “watch the shards” before heading to the garage.

The air stirred when Rick left. That’s when Morty smelled it.

That rotten, sickeningly sweet smell. How had he not noticed sooner?

Now the purple liquid covering Rick made sense.

Morty’s breath hitched in his throat and he blanched, reaching out blindly for the nearest container. He grabbed the trashcan and retched violently into it, tears and snot and vomit running down his face in ugly trails. It was hot, too hot. The kitchen felt like it was hundred degrees. Morty heard loud, choked sobs in the background before realizing they were coming from him.

When he started to calm down, he wiped his face with the wet towel he’d dropped before and rested his head on his knees. As his heartrate slowly returned to normal and the nausea abated, relief crept in. Maybe now the nightmares would stop. Maybe now he could open a door without fearing that somehow, that _monster_ had followed him here and would be standing behind it.

Morty stayed curled up on the floor until he heard his mom pull into the driveway. He forced himself to get up and clean up the mess.

When Beth asked him what had happened to his hand, Morty smiled and feigned clumsiness.

“Oh, be careful sweetie, don’t hurt yourself,” she said, running a hand through his hair. When she left the room he let the smile drop and turned back to the sink.

He drained the red water away and started over, running through the motions on autopilot.

 

*

 

That night, Morty couldn’t sleep. His skin itched and he clawed at it anxiously.

Eventually he gave up trying to sleep and pulled the covers back, sitting up so that his feet hung over the edge of the bed. The air felt heavy with tension. Morty had to acknowledge this somehow, but the thought of talking about it face-to-face with Rick made him want to throw up all over again. But he had to do _something_. He couldn’t go through each day like a ghost, hoping Rick wouldn’t bring it up, hoping they’d both just move on as if nothing had happened.

Before his resolve could crumble, Morty forced himself to get up and walk to Rick’s room. He snuck through the dark hallways, his carpet-muffled footsteps sounding eerie in the dead silence.

As he approached the closed door, Morty saw a sliver of light peeking out from underneath and knew immediately that Rick was awake. He had a vague idea of what he wanted to say, but knowing that Rick was on the other side of that door suddenly made Morty feel clumsy and awkward. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door and waited.

“Come in,” came the quiet reply.

Morty slipped through the door and closed it behind him. He let his eyes travel around the cramped space once before settling them on Rick, who was lying on his cot watching T.V.

“H-hey Rick,” Morty began, his uncertainty amplified in his grandfather’s presence. He was suddenly glad for the low voices on the T.V. that provided background noise and kept the room from being too quiet.

“Hey M-Morty. Why are you awake?” Rick asked, not lifting his eyes from the screen. Morty appreciated that. It gave him a small window of privacy to collect himself before saying what he wanted to say.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Morty paused. He took a deep breath and launched into his hastily-prepared speech. “L-look, Rick, I-I know what you did. I-I-I- just wanted to say…I wanted to say…just…t-thank you,” he finished lamely. He wanted to start over and explain it better, explain how he finally felt like he could move forward, how he didn’t have to be afraid anymore, but he didn’t know how to put all that into words. Instead, he shifted his weight to his other foot, waiting uncomfortably for Rick’s response.

Rick turned off the T.V. and turned so that he could sit up on the bed and face him. Morty swallowed anxiously, hoping that what he said was enough. He didn’t know how Rick would react. What if Rick stopped taking him on adventures because he didn’t think he could handle them? What if Morty really _couldn’t_ handle them? Isn’t that the reason all this had happened in the first place? What if—

“You’re welcome,” Rick said simply, interrupting Morty’s internal panicking. He got up from the bed and stretched, then reached out to ruffle Morty’s hair. “I can’t sleep either. You wanna go to Blitz and-and Chits?” he asked.

Morty closed his eyes against the touch and felt his lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah,” he said.

And he knew that, with time, things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was checking my inbox I got hit when a sudden wave of motivation to finish this. Sorry ugh I know I'm the shittiest updater ever lol. I've never written anything this short before but I felt like this was a decent place to end it. Hope yall liked it! 
> 
> <3


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